home is where the heart is
by mew-tsubaki
Summary: Oneshot. Torres...has had a long day. Luckily, Bishop and Reeves are there for him as always. .::established!Clellick::. *light T*


**home is where the heart is**

An NCIS oneshot

by mew-tsubaki

Note: The _NCIS_ characters belong to Donald P. Bellasario, not to me. Some soft Clellick feels just because. =w= Read, review, and enjoy!

\- ^-^3

At the end of the day, there's nothing like coming home to those who love you.

That thought kept Torres going earlier and it keeps him going now, even as he trudges up the stone steps to the apartment complex and fishes out his keys and has half a mind to sleep just inside the front door downstairs, because it's been one of those days, one of those unending days, unending in that night bleeds into day bleeds into night, night that can't be anything but grim especially as the mere thought of the word "bleeds" takes him right back to the bloodbath he and McGee spent documenting for the past twenty-four…or more…hours.

A bloodbath he really wishes he hadn't seen himself.

But a bloodbath he's relieved neither Bishop nor Reeves have had to witness.

Morbid thoughts aside for a moment, Torres pulls himself together, enters the complex, and meanders to the elevator. There's nothing quite like the luxury of riding the elevator to the sixth floor, even if he _has_ only been sitting on his ass today and probably needs the exercise.

A minute later, he's inside and heading up, and then a hollow, flat _**ding**_ alerts him that he's arrived. Torres steps out into the carpeted hallway, but four doors down a latch unlocks, and Reeves steps out with a bag of trash as he laughs at something inside.

He catches Torres' eye, and his smile dims. "Nick," he says. Simple and without the need for a proper greeting or other embellishments.

It's enough to make Torres muster the tiniest of smiles. He kind of feels like letting his bag slip from his shoulder so he can dive into one of Reeves' big bear hugs, but Reeves has a task literally in hand and Torres knows he's gotta make it inside before he unravels.

Reeves must suspect as much, since he sidesteps to let Torres by. But he insists Torres catch his eye, too, so the shorter man can read the concern there, and Torres nods back.

Finally inside, Torres drops his bag by the door, in front of the little table with their key dish, and he follows the sound of Bishop humming in the kitchen. He knows better than to bother her when she's cooking, but— "Holy _shit_"—his eyes widen—"did you use a whole cup of garlic?!"

Bishop jolts at his exclamation but laughs, and she glances at him over her shoulder. "What better way to welcome you home, right? But I swear I didn't; it just hasn't cooked down yet." Her smile still bright, she does a double-take—and, just like Reeves, her smile shrinks. "…Nick?"

He shrugs, as if the day's work really can be shrugged off. "Long day," he states when he feels Reeves' heavy footfall behind him.

"You know you can't get away with just a 'long day,' luv," Reeves reminds him. He takes the hand nearer to him, Torres' left, and holds tight, even lifting it to show Torres he's grounded here, he's safe here. In his eyes, Torres reads the added "Getting it off your chest will make you feel better."

Bishop, too, samples their dinner, scrunches her nose, adds a dash of some spice, and covers the pot so she can turn around and face her boys. She takes the single step to cross to him in their tiny kitchen, and she pushes the cuff of her old blue sweatshirt up so she can grab Torres' other free hand. Their fingers entwine, but then the cuff falls over their hands, hiding the comforting gesture.

Ages ago, Torres still thought of himself as someone who was PDA-allergic. Also ages ago but not as far back, he still thought he had to choose between this blonde brainiac and this British bad boy, especially when the grim thought that they might choose each other and leave him behind still tormented him.

Now he's grateful that he doesn't come home to an empty apartment, grateful that he's adapting to a life of wanting and needing others around him after a decade of playing the lone wolf.

So he gives their hands a squeeze—Bishop's with her slender, artist fingers and Reeves' with his stocky, fighter's digits—and begins to relax.

"Yeah," he confirms, "it was more than a long day. Makes me glad Vance gave you another op to prep for," he directs at Reeves. "And makes me glad you're on that DOD case with Delilah," he tells Bishop.

Bishop purses her lips and furrows her brow. "Clay and I've been wondering all day. You didn't send either of us a single message, Nick."

"Cartel stuff."

In a less serious situation, this is when Bishop whistles in response to the severity of the case. But she doesn't now, because even if they don't each have experience with cartel cases, the gory details from the news are bad enough.

Torres chuckles nervously, but he doesn't pull away from either of them. "I promise I'll share, honest. But maybe you two can catch me up on your days first?" He raises his eyebrows.

Bishop and Reeves share a look, and Reeves cocks his head in assent, meaning Bishop has to grumble her agreement. "Fine," she says, "but only if I can start backwards with the tale of how Clayton thought he'd be helpful in the kitchen and started adding things willy-nilly from the fridge." She covers her mouth with her free hand. "No kisses until I've eaten, like, four mints and brushed my teeth twice. Forget garlic breath, Nick—I've got garlic _mouth_."

At that, Reeves laughs. "It's not contagious, I assure you," he says with a quick peck at Torres' temple, but then they're both shoving him away just in case, because having everyone in the apartment reek is really not a great idea.

With that, Torres can feel the day melting away, and the reality of work becomes just another day at NCIS for him. In that moment, the hardest thing to believe isn't the nastiness they have to deal with in their jobs but that he ever doubted that this life, with both Bishop and Reeves, was exactly what he wanted and needed. After all…

At the end of the day, there's nothing like coming home to those who love you.

But there's also nothing better than coming home to those you love, too.

\- ^-^ 3

**Something soft and fluffy-ish because I need them all to be happy and, as always, I fucking miss Reeves. ;w; Tbh, my notes for this little oneshot had Nick being a little more insightful and doubtful of his poly relationship, but I'm saving that for another fic; I do prefer how this one morphed into what you have before you now. -w- And, while I'm kinda curious to know about the days of the other two and how tf Reeves nearly ruined dinner, this is deffo complete as-is. Sometimes all you want is a sketch of your ship…altho now I'm recalling I meant to include a crass joke from Reeves, but I'll just save that for another Clellick. XD**

**Thanks for reading, and please review! Check out my other **_**NCIS**_** fics if you liked this.**

**-mew-tsubaki ;)**


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